


The Sweetness of Honey Bees

by Return009



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9512627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Return009/pseuds/Return009
Summary: Clarke meets Lexa in an ER one afternoon.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The sliding doors to the Emergency Room unleash a steady stream of sounds and smells characteristic of only an establishment where the sick and sleep deprived congregate.

 

“Ashley Hansen.”

 

A woman in the far corner lets out a grunt before she slips her shoes back on and stalks toward the nurse who was already tapping her right foot impatiently. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ The sound of her clogs beating against the floor has an uneven rhythm.

 

“Finally. I’ve been waiting in this damn place for three hours.”

 

But the sick woman’s complaint only gets ignored when the nurse spins around without as much of a greeting, fully expecting the woman walking with the slight limp to follow her snappy pace into the exam room with ease.

 

“Can I help you, sir?”

 

The woman from behind the desk who must have been schooled in the same bedside manner hardly removes her eyes from the computer screen when she regards the father and daughter duo that’s just walked into the ER on a Friday afternoon.

 

“Yes, my daughter was just stung by a bee.”

 

He gently lifts Clarke’s hand to make his case, omitting the part about how it was a birthday surprise gone wrong.

 

“Any difficulty breathing?”

 

“No.”

 

“Fever?”

 

“No. But it’s swollen and---“

 

“Fill this out and return it to the desk once you’re done.”

 

They join the rest of the sick patients in their somber mood as they find two empty seats near the wall. The tattered chair nearly swallows her small frame as she sits down and her feet struggle to reach the floor when she leans back against it.

 

“How long is this going to take, daddy?” Clarke tugs at the sleeve of his sweater with her good hand.

 

The swelling in her left pinky was dangerously close to looking like a third thumb at this point, and Clarke hadn’t been prepared to lose a digit upon turning seven before today.

 

She clenches her eyes shut to try to block out the throbbing pain but her focus suddenly shifts to the grating voice of the nurse behind the desk instead. And it was starting to give her a headache.

 

“I know that it hurts, sweetie.” He says between checking boxes and squeezing letters into tiny spaces on the form. “Just be patient and you’ll be able to see the doctor soon.”

 

Clarke pouts and drops her body to the other side of the chair dramatically, blonde strands of hair falling into her face.

 

“Ouch.”

 

Her head knocks into a boney shoulder of the person sitting next to her and she rubs at the sore spot of her temple, still conscious not to aggravate her pinky.

 

“Sorry.” She mutters.

 

But the girl with the shoulder in question does nothing but arch a bushy eyebrow. She doesn’t even turn her head to look at Clarke.

 

“I said sorry.” Clarke pokes her, a little miffed that this person was ignoring her effort at civility.

 

“Jerk.”

 

This earns a different reaction from her.

 

A smile.

 

“Are you mocking me?”

 

She doesn’t say anything again but finally turns around and presses a finger to her lips to signal something.

 

“Oh. You can’t talk.” She’s mute.

 

The girl nods.

 

“A bee stung me.” Clarke raises her unsightly hook like she’s about to share a story about a prized battle wound even though she was complaining about the pain just a few minutes ago.

 

The little girl examines Clarke’s condition with a focus only matched by an actual physician and Clarke plays the role of the patient by eagerly anticipating a diagnosis. Or maybe, approval.

 

The girl smiles again and then pulls out a Band Aid from her backpack and hands it to Clarke. And as far as Clarke was concerned, she was cured.

 

“Want a candy bar? I saw a vending machine near the door.”

 

The girl nods.

 

“Daddy? Can we go buy a candy bar at the vending machine?”

 

Her dad glances over at Clarke’s new friend and then he meets the eyes of the little girl’s guardian who seems to voice no objection to the idea.

 

“Sure. But come back soon.”

 

He digs for the wallet in his back pocket, but the woman with Lexa speaks up.

 

“That’s fine. Let me. We’ve been waiting here for an hour now. I’m glad she’s made a friend.”

 

-

 

The two girls walk hand in hand out of the lobby over to the vending machine.

 

“What looks good?”

 

They muse the candy selection for a few minutes before deciding on a Kit Kat Bar because neither knew what “Fiber” meant even though the picture looked tasty.

 

Lexa offers through a series of hand movements to grab it from the machine even though Clarke still had one good hand left.

 

She unwraps the candy bar and breaks off two pieces for Clarke. And Clarke stares at it like she’s just gone through a famine three times over. In her defense, she did miss her own birthday cake.

 

But when she tries to stuff the entire bar into her mouth, Lexa launches forward and captures her wrist with a surprisingly strong grip.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Lexa didn’t have to motion her hands this time. The funny expression on her face certainly read _Are you a savage? No one eats a Kit Kat Bar that way._

 

“I’m just really hungry.” Clarke rubs her stomach unconsciously. Maybe the girl’s hand movements were catching on.

 

But Lexa wasn’t going to have it as she held one bar hostage while Clarke gobbled the other one down in two bites.

 

“Can I please have the other one now?”

 

She hands the remaining bar over and presses a sweet kiss to Clarke’s cheek. The chocolate melts in her hand.

 

When the two of them return to the waiting room, a tad shy in their walk, Clarke’s dad doesn’t notice the blush on his daughter’s face or the twinkle in Lexa’s eyes. He does, however, notices that Clarke’s finger was starting to bruise.

 

“Clarke, stay here while I go have a talk with the nurse.”

 

She nods, but she isn’t sure what she’s agreeing to. She just knows that she wants to stay with her new girlfriend.

 

_“My daughter’s finger is purple now. Purple.”_

_“Okay, sir. Let me see what I can do.”_

 

“My name is Clarke, by the way.”

 

She tries to tell the girl while the inflection of her dad’s voice sound in the background.

 

Once again, Lexa doesn’t say anything. She just starts carving something onto the wooden arm of the chair. Clarke leans over to take a peek.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Both of their eyes shoot up at the word.

 

“We can go in now.”

 

“Wait, I---“

 

“Let’s go, honey.”

 

And with that, she’s suddenly led into the exam room without as much of a goodbye from her first girlfriend.

 

- 

 

She twirls the pen in her hand. The clock reads 2:30AM.

 

“Another five hours until freedom, and I’m starving.”

 

“They finally fixed the vending machine outside if you want a quick fix.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, but I’d double check the expiration date if I were you.”

 

“No worries. I’m in a hospital after all.”

 

“Yes, but we need you to visit patients. We can’t have you flat on your back on the exam table.”

 

The nurse throws two dollar bills her way.

 

“I know you don’t carry cash with you, Dr. Griffin. Consider it a favor. Just remember this moment when you’re in need of a nurse’s assistance when a patient comes in for a rectal exam.”

 

-

 

 _Hm_.

 

She watches the candy bar drop from the ring and a weird feeling of nostalgia comes over her as she unwraps the red plastic.

 

The waiting room looks no different to her than before. She’s seen it a hundred times coming into her shift but never with a Kit Kat Bar in her hand.

 

_Only three people here. What if-_

 

The patients look on as the woman in green scrubs check every chair arm in the room.

 

“Sir, can I take a look at your chair?”

 

“Sure.”

 

The man stands up so that Clarke could examine it. She runs her fingers across the wood twice over to make sure that she didn’t miss anything.

 

 _Nothing_. _Maybe they updated. It has been twenty years._

Clarke slips down onto the chair; her legs touching the floor this time. She stares down at the two remaining pieces of candy in her hand. _One bar at a time, she says._

 

She smiles at the sweet memory but resolves that it was probably something best kept in her head.

 

And she finally decides to tuck the memory away and head back to reality behind those doors. But the sight of a lone chair someone had obviously moved next to the bathroom entrance catches her attention.

 

_It wouldn’t hurt to check one last chair._

 

She walks over and there it was.

 

 _Lexa_.

 

“Lexa.” She taps on the name carved into the chair. _Twenty years. I wonder if she still remembers._

\---

 

“Hey, can you look up a patient who came into the ER on June 30th 1990 with the first name Lexa?”

 

“That would be the second good deed I’ve done for you today, Dr. Griffin.” The old woman stares at her expectantly.

 

“Alright, I’ll call Trudy if it’s a drunk patient.”

 

“You got yourself a deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Lexa Woods_.

 

According to her online research, Lexa Woods was either the owner of that local bakery on Boylston and Claude or an inmate serving time in the city jail for arson. Clarke prays that her Kit Kat bar did not grow up with a penchant for playing with fire.

 

A yellow taxicab, the first one to come down the street in nearly fifteen minutes, breezes past her, nearly hiking up her skirt in the process. It is the first gust of wind of the day.

 

Her eyes follow the cab until it stops a few yards ahead to let a passenger out at the curb, tires screeching and the smell of rubber permeating the humid air.

 

“Wait!”

 

Clarke waves it down and wonders if she’s making the right decision as she gives chase to the vehicle. The idea seems quite romantic on a TV screen with nothing more than a little effort to reach for a handful of popcorn on her part, but the actual task of hunting down a past love in the middle of August without proper sunscreen douses her with anxiety.

 

The man getting out kindly holds the door for her.

 

“Thank---,” she breathes, ”you.”

 

She slips in and is immediately overwhelmed by the smell of old leather and a fading scent of Pine Forest.

She stares down at the un-vacuumed carpet. Ranch flavored Doritos too, it seems.

 

“Red Brick Bakery on Boylston Street, please.”

 

The cab driver swipe at his snotty nose like it’s a habit more than a circumstance and resets the meter.

 

“Alright, we’re---“

 

“Red Brick Bakery, please. I’m in a rush.”

 

Clarke stares at the brown haired woman who’s just slid in through the other side of the cab, carrying with her a faint scent of hazelnut and roses.

 

She blinks twice at Clarke once it dawns on her that she was sharing the backseat with another person.

 

“Uh, who are you?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The person who got into this cab first.”

 

The woman turns to the cab driver for confirmation.

 

“Yeah,” he absently scratches the side of his head and a cloud of dandruff layers the seat. “She got into the cab first. But it looks like the two of you are going to the same place. So ya might as well share a cab.”

 

The woman does a once over of Clarke who’s still trying to figure out what kind of perfume she’s wearing.

 

“Okay.” She pulls on the handle of the door to close it shut, jolting Clarke out of her daze.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The man stares at the two women from the rearview mirror, slightly confused at their exchange. “Lovely. Now seatbelts on, ladies.”

 

“Even if we’re riding in the back?”

 

“You’re going to need them.”

 

And it turns out that he was right.

 

The yellow cab that they ride in squeezes through every possible opening, save for the space on the sidewalk reserved for pedestrians, because the menace behind the wheels has the temperament of an anxious puppy at the vet.

 

“Sir, is there a reason why you’re in a bigger rush to get to the destination than we are?”

 

Clarke grips the assist handle on the roof to keep her body from swaying back and forth and knocking into the woman next to her.

 

“Lady, this is how the pros do it. I’m saving you some money, anyway.”

 

“I’d rather keep my life than save a few bucks.”

 

Her shoulder bumps into the woman sitting beside her, and a firm but gentle hand grip at her forearm for support.

 

“If it’s any consolation, you smell really nice before you die.”

 

Clarke whips her head around, slightly stunned at the stranger’s confession.  
  
“I’m sure that’s you.”

 

She smirks.

 

“Mr. Taxi man,” the woman looks at the nametag “Harry.” She reads it again.

 

“Mr. Harry…Potter.”

 

Clarke tries her best to stifle a giggle and the boy wonder reborn as a middle-aged taxi cab driver glares at her from his rear view mirror.

 

“I’ve got a hundred dollar bill here that has your name on it. How about we let that meter run for a little bit longer. We don’t need to make it there under five minutes.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow and shifts his gaze between the confident woman and this weekend’s poker money.

 

“I thought you said that you were in a rush, lady.”

 

“Well, I was until---“

 

A phone rings.

 

“Hey.”

 

While the woman talks into her cellphone, Clarke takes the opportunity to check her makeup again. It’s been the third time she’s opened the compact mirror today despite not owning one last week.

 

“Okay, Mr. Potter, you can let me off at the curb ahead instead.”

 

The cab comes to a screeching stop, throwing the both of them forward.

 

“Told you that those seatbelts would come in handy.”

 

The woman unfastens her seatbelt and leans forward.

 

“This should cover the cost of my ride and hers.”

 

Mr. Potter finally turns his head around to look at them for the first time. And to Clarke’s surprise, he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five.

 

“Ah.” The woman pulls the bill away from his hairy grasp. “On one condition.”

 

The man huffs and shifts his gaze to Clarke.

 

“Fine, I’ll make sure the blonde gets her muffins and scones.”

 

“Safely.” She drops the bill in his hand.

 

“You don’t have to do that.” Clarke tries to object but the woman was already out of the car at that point. Though, that interesting scent of hers still lingers behind.

 

The cab slowly pulls away from the curb, surprisingly mindful of its passenger in the back this time, and the driver mutters something beneath his breath.

 

“Women.”

 ---

She’s never been inside before but Red Brick Bakery has that homely feel about it from the outside that makes it seem a bit out of place at a cross street decked by law offices and impatient pedestrians.

 

“Your stop, lady.”

 

Clarke gropes for her handbag at her side only to discover that it was now lodged beneath the passenger’s seat next to some kind of used plastic wrapper.

 

“Right.” She reaches down, hoping that she doesn’t catch anything in retrieving her belongings. To her relief, it is only a candy wrapper. But she does notice a cellphone.

 

“This--”

 

“What?”

 

But on better judgment, she tucks it into her own bag. “Nothing.”

 

\---

 

_“Two loafs of honey wheat bread, please.”_

The bakery has the hustle and bustle of a busy diner but still maintains that homely feel she had gathered from it from the outside.

 

_It’s nice._

 

A woman with shoulder length brown hair comes marching out of the back with flour on her cheeks.

 

“Need any help up front?”

 

The embroidered name on her chef coat reads Lexa.

 

“Oh, hi, how can I help you?” She smiles at Clarke.

 

And Clarke stares at the pretty face but can’t help but feel something drop in her stomach.

 

“Uh, yes. One blueberry scone, please.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

She isn’t exactly sure what she was expecting. Just something _more_. Perhaps, the memory is actually a lot sweeter in her mind.

 

The woman hands Clarke the pastry, and a weird part of her wants to ask her how she should eat it. But the words don’t form correctly on her tongue.

 

“Thank you.”

\--- 

 

Clarke flips the scone on its side.

 

“What cha doing?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, the doctor playing with her food.”

 

She leaves the scone alone.

 

“Ever been disappointed by how someone turned out?”

 

Jamie drops her fork down onto the plate. “What do you mean?”

 

“Say you go to a bakery to buy a blueberry scone. It’s nice, but it’s not something that you haven’t seen before. And you were expecting something else. Something worth the trip.”

 

“I feel like this is a bit too metaphoric for my understanding. So who is this sad pastry you’ve been tossing around the table?”

 

“No one’s a pastry.”

 

 _Ring_.

 

“Are you going to pick that up?”

 

“That’s not me.”

 

The sound comes again.

 

“Well, it’s coming from your purse.”

 

She digs a blind hand in and removes the vibrating device from her bag. Her eyes alight with realization.

 

“Oh, right.”

 

The nurse continues to stare at her like everything Clarke’s been saying and doing have flown right over her head.

 

“Hello?”

 

_“Hi, this is the owner of the phone calling.”_

 

“Yeah, hey! This is the other person in the cab. You left it behind.”

 

_“Oh, thank you for keeping it for me. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow afternoon?”_

 

“Sure. Where?”

 

_“Our initial destination.”_


	3. Chapter 3

The last time she was here, it was a lot less crowded. There was a French chanson playing in the background and only four people working the counter. But today, it’s like she’s been transported to a different region in the world as Spanish folk music sound to a whole team of workers moving about with sweat on their brows.

 

She tries to locate an empty seat in the bakery but notices that the two patrons here before her were still standing in the corner eating their pastries like watchdogs on the lookout for the next person to leave their seat.

 

Clarke feels a slight tug at her sleeve.

 

“I was actually leaving.” The elderly woman with what appears to be ageless blue eyes smiles up at her from her table.

 

“Thank you.” She gently squeezes the woman’s hand, somehow feeling a close bond to her already.

 

“Hey!”

 

Clarke turns to the sound of the familiar voice, somehow certain that it was calling for her. And the smell of roses greets her before those flecks of green do.

 

“Hi!” A hand extends between them, and there is a flash of amusement that crosses the other woman’s nice features before she takes Clarke’s hand.

 

“After our near death experience together, I would have expected something less formal,” the woman teases and Clarke winces internally at the formality she’s just displayed.

 

“I’m glad to see that you’re still in one piece.”

 

“Partly thanks to you.”

 

The woman releases her grip to allow Clarke the chance to dig in her bag.

 

“So, here’s your phone.”

 

“Right. Thanks.” The woman stares down at it, like it is an afterthought, entirely. “Let me get you a pastry or something to thank you for making the trip out here.”

 

“It’s fine. After all, you did pay for my ride. Consider us even.”

 

“What if I said that I insist?” The woman winks at Clarke, and somewhere between the savory scent of fresh bread and traditional European music, Clarke admits to herself that she might be slightly charmed.

 

She finally takes the empty seat kindly left to her and watches the backside of the woman as she makes her way to counter. The sight of a loose braid in the back of her hair strikes a familiar chord inside of her, but Clarke can’t quite put a name to the vague feeling.

 

“No courtesy at all.”

 

Her focus suddenly shifts to the two disgruntled men moving past her table, speaking beneath their breath but loud enough so that Clarke could hear their displeasure of her.

 

She thinks about calling them back and relinquishing her seat, but the sight of a beautiful woman with a mischievous smile walking back in her direction distracts her.

 

“What’s that?” She points to the plate in the woman’s hand.

 

She sets it down on the table. “An éclair.”

 

“Ah.” The pastry with chocolate icing on top isn’t exactly the meal she was hoping for after skipping lunch, but she didn’t think her empty stomach was in much of a state to discriminate any kind of food. She slowly picks it up with two fingers, trying her best not to devour the entire thing like a barbarian in front of the woman.

 

“What are you doing?” An amused smirk draws at the woman’s lips.

 

“Eating the éclair?”

 

“That’s not how to properly eat an éclair.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. Let me show you.” She takes one glance around the room and it’s like something dawns on her. “Need more chairs.”

 

“Here.” Clarke scooches to the edge of her seat to make some room for the woman to sit down beside her. The tip of the woman’s eyebrows scrunch together for a brief moment under the weight of the seemingly innocuous invitation before the same smirk reappears and she obliges.

 

It’s a tad uncomfortable to sit this way. Only half of her body is being supported by the seat while the other half is trying to stay in its own lane because Clarke has a feeling that the woman at the next table did not want to be bothered by two grown women sharing a seat in a crowded bakery. And, yet, this makes Clarke want to giggle even more.

 

“So, you’re actually supposed to cut it into pieces with a fork and knife.” She demonstrates with the utensils in her hands.

 

“Why? Seems a bit pretentious to me.”

 

“It’s less messy this way. The filling doesn’t squeeze out. You would have created a big mess with the way you were ready to devour it.”

 

The woman slides the plate over to Clarke and tells her to try it.

 

“May I use my fingers to do this, my lady?” They both burst out into a fit of giggles at the sexual innuendo that would have been uncomfortable in any other circumstance, and the agitated woman next to them mutters something to the effect of _bunch of lesbians_.

 

Clarke clears her throat and straightens up her back in the most posh way she knows how to before she takes one bite of the eclair.

 

And it is worth it.

 

She closes her eyes and lets out a satisfied “Mhmmm.”

 

That’s why she doesn’t notice the twinkle in the other woman’s eyes.

 

“You should try our blueberry scone if you like this. It’s the best thing on our menu.”

 

“Really?” Clarke finally returns from her daydream state to ask, trying her best to hold back on telling the woman that she’s tried the blueberry scone before, and it was nothing to write home about. But, this éclair, this thing cut into tiny pieces that she was somehow talked into eating while half of her leg was falling asleep, is utterly magnificent.

 

“You know---“

 

 _Beep_.

Clarke begrudgingly reaches for the device at her waistband that’s just interrupted a peculiarly sweet moment between her and the woman.

 

“Duty calls,” she stares down at the lighted screen.

 

They both stand from the seat in unison, as if some spell’s been broken. The woman lends out her hand this time and Clarke takes it even though she wants to stay a bit longer for the coffee --- for anything if it means that she’ll have to share her seat with a woman that smells even more wonderful than she looks.

 

“Well, once again, thank you for returning my phone.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“Take care, then.” The woman shoves her hands in her pockets and does this cute thing with her foot. And it takes all the willpower Clarke has to say goodbye.

 

As she turns around and heads for the exit, the smell of roses heavy on her mind, Clarke wonders if she would ever get to see this woman again. If she should hail the next reckless taxicab she sees flying down the street or visit this bakery one more time at the off chance of running into her a second time.

 

“Lexa.”

 

An unfamiliar voice from behind her calls out that name, and it stops Clarke in her tracks momentarily. She stares down at the floor and deliberates on turning around, on seeing her Kit Kat bar again, but the voice of reason inside her head tells her to continue walking ahead because disappointment is not a feeling worth revisiting.

 

That is, until she hears a familiar voice answer to that name.


	4. Chapter 4

The woman walks around the counter to pacify the frazzled girl whose face was decorated with what appears to be a blend of strawberry filling and flour.

 

“Lexa, I refuse to work with that lunatic! She slung strawberry filling at me because I made one suggestion!”

Shoulders slumping, the woman replies, “I’m sorry, I know that Raven can be difficult to work with sometimes. She can get quite defensive when it comes to her Danish pastries.”

 

The young girl, who’s apparently been on the receiving end of another baker’s temper, throws her arms in the air in a show of exasperation.

 

And Clarke, who should have been out the door by now, watches on as she hangs onto this new revelation about Lexa by a thread. In the background, she hears the sound of cars passing by dim and buzz as patrons enter and exit and the absurdity of her standing motionless in the middle of a packed bakery when she should be hailing a cab to the hospital is not lost on her.

 

When she finally opens her mouth to speak, Clarke finds herself unsure of what to say. Undeterred, she tries again, but the small sound that forms is easily drown out by the catchy acoustic from the overhead speaker and thudding inside her chest.

 

And it is then that the most befitting word to sum up this incredible situation slips out.

 

“Bee.”

 

Lexa snaps her head around at the voice, no longer looking at the girl whose strawberry Danish makeup was now smudged with tears.

 

She looks surprised, but Clarke can’t decide if that’s a look that mirrors her own or one that falls in the same vein as bewilderment. And she doesn’t get the opportunity to ask her when an impatient hand tugs Lexa out of her sight.

 

“Shit.” Clarke scurries to the counter to see if she could get a look behind the wall that Lexa and the girl disappeared behind.

 

And it only takes about ten seconds for someone to ask her for her order. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

 

“Uh, well,” she says distractedly, eyes still glued to the area behind the brunette, “I have a question.”

 

“Sure. What is it?”

 

Clarke clears her throat and addresses the girl by the nametag clipped onto her shirt, “Katie, it’s a question that I’d like to ask your owner.”

 

And a weird feeling overcomes her the second she realizes what she’s about to say for the first time. “Lexa.”

 

“Wah-ell,” Katie stumbles as indiscreet arguing comes from the back. Her face turns two shades of red when she realizes that Clarke hears it too. “Lexa’s slightly busy right now. Why don’t I—“

 

And then comes a loud cry like someone’s been hurt.

 

It doesn’t take long before Clarke’s medical instincts have her dashing past the counter and the poor girl who have yet to offer up another lame cover up.

 

She doesn’t get far before she’s greeted by a woman in a high ponytail and a no nonsense attitude.

 

“Who are you? You can’t be back here.”

 

Her nametag reads Raven but her demeanor says she wants nothing to do with you.

 

“It’s okay. I know her.”

 

Clarke looks beyond slender shoulders to find Lexa standing beside the young girl from before. And she’s gripping her forefinger in a concerning way that makes Clarke leap towards the only person that could possibly be responsible for this crime.

 

She corners the baker in question into a workbench and jabs an incriminating finger at her shoulder.

 

“What did you do to her?”

 

Pearly white teeth slowly reveal themselves as Raven look between Lexa and the fuming doctor.

 

“Hey, Woods, can you get your white knight to back off for a second?”

 

“It wasn’t her fault.” Lexa calls out. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, actually. My finger just got caught in the fridge door as I was getting the strawberries.”

 

This causes Clarke to retreat from her standoff with Raven to rush to Lexa’s side. “Can I see it? I’m a doctor,” she assures her.

 

“Can you try bending your finger?”

 

She performs a few preliminary tests on Lexa to rule out a fractured bone, but as Clarke suspects, Lexa fails them all miserably.

 

“That was a trick question!” Adorably but miserably, nonetheless.

 

She laughs at her unconvinced patient. “We need to get you to the hospital for an x-ray. You might have a broken finger.”

 

“Really?”

 

“You heard her Woods. Go to the hospital.” Raven speaks again, and her tone is less biting this time. “She’s a doctor, after all.”

 

“You’ll take care of the bakery while I’m away?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” She begins kneading the dough in front of her with furious speed, and this causes the other baker to shift uneasily in her spot. “Just make sure no one gets in my way again.”

 

“I’ll help you hail a cab.” The unlucky girl who knows that she’ll be spending the next few hours alone with Raven without any potential witnesses exclaims.

 

If one did not know any better, they’d think that the young girl was the one headed for the hospital with the way the beads of sweat was glistening at her temple.

 

“It’s going to be okay. You know Raven’s bark is worse than her bite.”

 

The girl’s grip tightens around Lexa’s arm as they make their way out of the bakery, “Take me with you.”

 

“You know I need you here.”

 

The girl only gives a defeated look when a taxicab pulls up in front of them just mere seconds after they come to stand at the curb.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Lexa offers a few last words of reassurance before Clarke and her duck their heads into the cab.

 

“Memorial Hospital, please.”

 

“You two again?”

 

Clarke cringes as the familiar smell of old leather and Doritos tell her all too well whose cab they just hopped into again.

 

“Mr. Potter,” she acknowledges, and the man squints his eyes at the two women from his rearview mirror.

 

“You two sharing a cab to the hospital today?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, buckle up.”

 

As expected, they swerve back and forth from one lane to the next. But, much to Clarke’s displeasure to admit, Mr. Potter’s _expedited_ method of driving was appreciated in this situation.

 

She turns to Lexa. “How’s your finger feeling?”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer but opts to show Clarke her bruised digit instead and Clarke can’t help but think how inappropriate it must be that she wants to kiss it better despite her medical knowledge.

 

“Why are you smiling when your finger looks like that?”

 

“You nearly chewed Raven’s head off back there. I think she likes you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. And that’s practically unheard of.”

 

“Well, I thought she hurt you.”

 

“She could never. And are you always this protective of people you hardly know?”

 

“No. I just…well, I---”

 

The car abruptly jerks to the right, sending Clarke to collide right into Lexa. And she finally figures out where the smell of roses comes from---that tiny area right under Lexa’s earlobe.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She slides back to her place in the cab, cheeks flaring and blood boiling. She glares at Mr. Potter through the rearview mirror, and, for the first time, he shows a sign of normal human interaction and smiles at Clarke. _The sneaky bastard_.

 

“So?” Lexa looks at her expectantly.

 

“Well…I just like your eclairs.” The dumb answer escapes her lips before she could even deliberate on it, but Lexa seem to accept it, nonetheless.

 

“Ah, so that’s it. I can’t say that I blame you though. They’re perfection.”

 

Clarke looks ahead and silently agrees with the wild haired woman whose jumbo-sized finger did not stop her from cracking a smile. _Yes, perfection might just be what it is_.

 

“Here is your stop, ladies.”

 

They arrive at the hospital earlier than Clarke expects, perhaps even earlier than if Clarke had left the bakery when she was supposed to.

 

“Keep the change, Mr. Potter,” she tells him after she hands him two bills.

 

“Wait.” He pulls out a card from the pocket of his shirt.

 

“That’s odd,” Clarke announces once they’re out of the cab, “I think he actually likes us.”

 

“What’s not to like?” Lexa grabs Mr. Potter’s business card from Clarke’s hand playfully and raises it to sun for further inspection.

 

“I was thinking perhaps the unsightly finger on your right hand.”

 

“This thing?” She stares down at her more than likely broken finger. “Yes, it is quite unsightly.”

 

“Yes.”

 

And they both laugh a hearty laugh that any stranger might suspect only lovers of laughing.

 

But that doesn’t stop Clarke from noticing the vending machine they pass up on their way into the ER or the totally innocent way her hand brushes up against Lexa’s.

 

“Dr. Griffin.” The nurse behind the counter regards her with the same cheesy smile that she puts on display for every doctor that passes by.

 

“Jamie, this is a friend of mine who might have a broken finger. Can you check her in _promptly_ so that she can come into the back for an x-ray?”

 

“Sure.” She eyes the brown haired woman who’s clearly won the affection of their most eligible doctor. “Your ID and health insurance card, please.”

 

While the nurse type away at her computer, Lexa turns to Clarke to remind her that she actually has a job to do.

 

“You don’t have to stay with me. I don’t want to keep you from another patient.”

 

“Right. Of course.” Clarke did not want to admit to the irrational fear, but a small part of her was afraid that if she left Lexa in this ER a second time, she wouldn’t see her again for another twenty years.

 

“Promise me that you won’t leave until you get seen?”

 

She hands Mr. Potter’s card back to Clarke and smiles. “No way of leaving now.”

 

“Okay.” She walks backwards toward the double doors leading to the exam room, eyes still trained on Lexa. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

“Will do, doc.” She waves that unsightly finger in the air again, and it’s the cutest thing Clarke’s ever seen.

 

The nurse looks up from her computer screen to interrupt the exchange. “Oh you’ve been here before, Ms. Woods.”

 

“I have? I don’t remember.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, guys. I had been busy and decided to take some time away from writing for a while, but I'm back now!
> 
> Anyway, I forgot to mention this earlier, but this fic is for my friend sweet anon.

“Hi.” Clarke lets out a sigh at the sight of the one girlfriend whom she’s never broken up with.

 

“Hello." Lexa looks amused and she doesn't understand why. "You look good.”

 

“Thank you.” Clarke reaches up to tuck back what she thought was a loose strand of hair from her ponytail.

 

“You. Not so much.” She manages to sound cool through the odd fluttering in her stomach that’s fallen somewhere between indigestion and a grade school crush.

 

“Well, I’ve had better days.” Lexa looks down to study her broken finger and doesn’t notice the doctor taking small steps her way.

 

“We’re going to need an x-ray on that finger, Lexa.” And the gentle delivery of those words surprises the both of them.

 

Lexa blinks, foolishly hoping that it doesn’t somehow wash away the feeling. “Okay.”

 

“Lexa.“ Clarke inches a bit closer, now moving past the IV that draws an invisible line between them. “I---“

 

“Dr. Griffin—“

 

And whatever spell there is between them is suddenly broken by a nurse trying to alert Clarke about the sobbing patient in Room 5.

 

“We need an x ray done on her.” She looks back at Lexa once more. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

\---

 

By the time Clarke’s returned to Lexa’s room, she’s already gone over the X-ray results twice and the question she’s been dying to ask Lexa six times over.

 

“How bad is it?” Lexa tilts her head slightly to the side, and Clarke finds that her patient is still as pretty as when she left her.

 

“Uh. Not too bad. We just need to put this splint on you.”

 

She begins her work, and Lexa watches Clarke intently but it has nothing to do with her curiosity about broken bones.

 

“Do you have a question?” There’s an odd tension in the air between them and Clarke is afraid to remove her eyes from what she's doing.

 

“No. Just curious.”

 

“Right.” She holds her breath. “There’s a record of you being here about twenty years ago. Do you remember?”

 

A few seconds pass before Lexa confirms what Clarke heard her say earlier. “I don’t think so.”

 

“You were checked in for having a high grade fever and a sore throat.” She hopes that the details would somehow refreshen Lexa's memory.

 

“Ah! I do remember my parents telling me about a health scare I had when I was younger that landed me in the ER.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is there anything particular that I should know about it?”

 

 _Me_. And then Clarke wonders what good would a memory be if only she remembers it. “No. Nothing.”

 

She swallows the bittersweet feeling of dismantling a precious memory before looking up to her patient again.

 

“You’re all good and done.” Something tugs at the center of her chest but she ignores it.” The nurse will come back in with your prescriptions and the discharge papers soon.”

 

“Will do, Doc.” Lexa smiles at her and Clarke wonders if she smiles at everyone this way.

  
“Do you have a ride home?”

 

“Already taken care of. I’ve already called our trusty cabdriver, Mr. Potter.”

 

 _Our trusty cabdriver_. Something about the idea of a thing belonging solely to them makes Clarke a little crazy, even if that thing is a middle aged wreckless cabdriver. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything before she walks out the door. Or when the nurse passes by with the forms in her hand. Or when Lexa walks by, carrying her scent and a twenty year old memory with her.

 

But she does run after Lexa with an umbrella when she hears that it’s raining outside.

 

“Lexa.”

 

The woman stops in the middle of the ER lobby at the sound of her name and Clarke reminds herself that she should stop seeking the woman out this way.

 

“It’s raining. I’ll bring you to your cab.”

 

Lexa looks at the umbrella in Clarke’s hand and remembers the cool way she reacted just minutes ago. “You’re confusing.”

 

“I---“

 

 _Honk_. _Honk_.

 

They turn their attention to a yellow cab parked at the end of the curb outside the ER.

 

“Looks like Mr. Potter is here and he’s as impatient as ever.”

 

Clarke’s grip tightens around the handle of the umbrella as she leads Lexa out to the rain.

 

“If there’s anything you need, you can call me.”

 

“Will do, doc.”

 

“Right.”

 

And they linger there for a little bit longer than what’s expected of two strangers.

 

“I should get in.”

 

She awkwardly reaches for the handle behind Lexa, leaning in close enough to catch that pretty scent of roses in the rain.

 

“You smell nice.” It comes out as a tiny whisper that could almost be a secret that's shared only between the two of them.

 

And Lexa reacts to this secret with just the offer of a small smile before disappearing into the back seat of Mr. Potter’s cab once more. And a part of Clarke starts to wonder if what she said was too much or not enough.

 

“Dammit, Griffin.” She squeezes the handle frustratingly as the rain continues to beat on the fabric of her umbrella. And then it hit her.

 

“Wait!”

 

Splashes of water come up to her knees as she gives chase to Lexa’s cab, her umbrella parachuting her back from the gust of wind blowing in the opposite direction.

 

“Wait!”

 

It takes a third call and a near death experience avoiding a pothole before she sees the brake lights through the rain.

 

And Lexa already has the window rolled down halfway to greet her by the time she catches up to the cab.

 

“Lexa.” It hurts a bit to breathe at this point.

 

“Clarke. What’s going on?”

 

Mr. Potter grumbles at the way his torn seats are getting wet from the rain, but Clarke doesn't care.

 

“You,” she pulls on the metal part and another splash of rain falls on his seats, “forgot the umbrella. It’s raining outside.”

 

Clarke hands it to Lexa, and Lexa stares at the wet strands of hair that’s turned dark blonde in the rain.

 

“Yes." Lexa smiles at Clarke and then reaches across the opening. "And you have rain on your nose.” She swipes gently at the spot, and it wets the pad of her forefinger.

 

“Thank you.” Clarke scrunches her nose cutely, her voice coming out as only a soft murmur in the cold rain.

 

This prompts Lexa to give her a lopsided grin. And, suddenly, there is shyness between them.

 

 


End file.
